Salonius nodded. He could see where this was going.
The sergeant sat up straight and unfolded his arms. “I want you to report to the captain’s house. He might want to brief you on the situation straight away, or he might prefer to wait until I get there. I have a few things to do, but I shaln’t be far behind you.”
He rose from the chair and straightened.
“You’ll retain your new rank, pay, uniform and all benefits, but I’m assigning you on detached duty to the captain himself. You know where his house is?”
Salonius shook his head slightly.
“No, sir, but I can find it.”
“Good.” Corda stepped round the table and reached out, grasping the younger man by the shoulder. “Get going and tell the captain that I’ll meet you there when I’ve got the morning briefing out of the way.”
Salonius saluted and, turning, unlatched the door and strode out into the morning sunshine. The captain’s house would be close and easy to find. As he stepped between the guards at the door and out into the street, he noted the sergeant of the command guard, followed by all the senior officers of the cohort, marching along the street toward the cohort office.
Stepping respectfully to one side, he hurried across the main square toward the two senior officer’s houses that lay between him and the cohort’s barrack blocks. A swift glance at the house to his left revealed a tile cemented into the wall next to the door with FC. Fortress command; wrong house. A few steps across the thoroughfare and the tile on the house opposite read IIC; commander of the second cohort. Salonius stepped up to the door and knocked firmly.
The door was opened by the captain’s body servant, Martis. The older man gave Salonius a shrewd once-over and then stepped aside without a word. The young guard took a tentative step inside and glanced around. Captain Varro sat in the main room in his tunic and breeches, cradling a bronze cup in his hands and staring down into the contents, seemingly deep in thought. Stepping stiff backed into the room, Salonius came to attention and cleared his throat.
Varro looked up from his cup and frowned.
“Soldier?”
There was something in his tone, Salonius thought, but couldn’t identify what it was.
“Reporting under orders of sergeant Corda, sir,” he announced.
There was clearly something bothering the captain and Salonius realised he himself had an indescribable itch beneath the skin. Risking breaking his attentive stance, he cast his eyes momentarily about the room and sniffed deeply. The room had a peculiar smell; an old smell that he remembered from the days of his youth all those years ago in that village on the edge of the Northern Woods. A smell of wet forest and disturbed undergrowth had been badly masked with some kind of fragrance. In the old days they’d have burned some herbs over the fire in the centre of the room to remove the smell. Someone… Martis, he suspected, had burned a scented oil throughout the house and then opened the windows to drive the combined thick, cloying scent out on the breeze. It had largely worked, but Salonius knew something Martis didn’t.
He smiled nervously.
Varro grunted and took a sip of his heated drink, a wisp of steam wafting up into the air-chilled room. A faint hint of lemon accompanied the steam, adding to the already complex aroma of the room. The captain leaned back.
“Relax, Salonius. I’m off duty for one thing, and for another I actually hold no active rank at all currently.”
“Respectfully, sir” the young guard replied, remaining straight, “you are my superior officer and I am reporting under the orders of the acting captain.”
Varro smiled. A strange smile that Salonius couldn’t quite work out.
“Very well then. At ease, soldier.” The captain sighed. “And that can be an order if you like.”
Salonius shrugged and settled into a more comfortable stance.
“You seem in an odd mood, if I may say, sir?”
It was impertinent, and he knew it, but something was bothering the captain, and something was bothering him too; the same thing, he was sure. He took a deep breath.
“It may not be possible, sir, but it still happens.”
Varro looked up sharply.
“What?”
“A visit? An encounter, sir?”
Varro carefully placed his cup down on the small table and looked past the guard’s head.
“Martis. Go to the shop and get me some wine.”
The stocky servant nodded silently and, collecting a small bag of coins from a drawer in the cabinet by the door, ducked outside and disappeared out into the morning light, leaving the door to swing shut with a click.
“Tell me what you mean, Salonius. And knock off the inferior officer stuff. This is important…”
Salonius stepped forward and the captain gestured at a seat near the window. The guard placed his helmet on the cabinet and sat carefully, making sure his sword sheath hung neatly to one side of the chair.
“Cernus sir,” the young man replied earnestly. “You spoke briefly of him after the battle. It struck me as strange then, you not being one of the folk, if you pardon the expression sir?”
Varro waved that aside and leaned forward, listening intently.
“Well, sir,” Salonius went on, “it’s almost unheard of for someone outside our people to see Cernus in the flesh, so to speak, sir. I presume you’d seen him before the battle?”
Varro nodded, saying nothing.
“And you saw him again last night, sir?”
“Last night… this morning. When I woke. I thought I was dreaming. But how do you know all this?” the captain queried, his brow furrowing.
Salonius shrugged. “I can smell it. Honestly, sir, I can virtually feel it. I don’t know whether any of your servants or friends here would notice, but I know the signs sir. No amount of spiced oil is going to hide that scent.”
Varro’s frown deepened. “You speak from experience.”
The young man nodded.
“Tell me…” the captain urged.
Salonius squared his shoulders.
“I’ve seen him twice sir. Both times have changed my life. Cernus is a Lord of Portents. To see the stag himself is to be given a portent; a herald of things changing. Something for you will change. I can’t speak for what you saw sir, but my first vision was pretty clear.”
He smiled, wistfully, his eyes glazing slightly with the memory.
“I was hunting with my brothers in the woods near our village. Somehow we got separated and I ended up deep in the undergrowth on my own. I had a bow, you see, sir? I was after game really, or a coney. Whatever I could find. Other than that I just had a long knife on my belt. I stumbled into a clearing just as a bloody great boar burst out of the other edge. I didn’t really have time to react. I dropped the bow and reached for my knife, but I’d have been dead before I’d freed the blade…”
“And?” Varro had moved to the edge of his seat in rapt fascination.
“And the wolf saved me, sir. A big grey wolf came from nowhere and hit the boar in the flank. He tore its throat out as I stood there, then he looked at me just once and settled down to eat his kill. I turned and ran back into the woods and after a dozen steps, there was the white stag. I’d been saved by the wolf, sir. It was clear to me anyway, but I went to see the village healer and he confirmed what it meant. I set off for Vengen the next morning and enlisted to serve the Imperial wolf, sir.”
Varro blinked and sat back.
“I don’t think your God showed me anything; don’t think he told me what to expect. I just remember the feeling; the aura of the place and the thing.”
Salonius nodded thoughtfully.
“You’re not one of our people, sir. You might not have recognised whatever signs you were given, but rest assured there will have been signs.”
“So a visit from Cernus means your life’s going to change?” Varro sat back heavily, with a strange smile on his face. “Well, it certainly did. And now I’ve seen him twice it’s going to chang
e again?”
“Not necessarily, sir.” Salonius steepled his fingers. “A visit from the Stag Lord is rare enough sir. A second visit is not something that happens very often even in legends. A second visit is… it’s sort of a confirmation of destiny, sir. A chance to change things, sir. Something world-shaking.”
The captain sighed.
“Your God has, I think, taken something from me. I think that’s what our first meeting was. But it’s possible that this morning he gave me something in return. I need to tell you the full story, Salonius. But I need you to keep this totally secret at the moment. Not about Cernus; I don’t think there’s much else to say about that, and most any man you speak to in the army will think you a madman if you start telling them you had a one-on-one with a forest God. I think Corda sent you to me for a specific reason and I need to tell you what’s happened over the last twenty four hours.”
The young man nodded hesitantly.
Varro drained his now tepid lemon drink and cleared his throat.
“I’m dying, Salonius.”
He looked across at his young companion and studied his features.
“You don’t seem all that surprised?”
Salonius shook his head slightly.
“I’m sorry about that sir. I really am. But no, I’m not surprised. I knew something was going on and it makes sense, I think. But why and how?”
“Poison, my lad. On the blade that stuck me.”
Varro squared his shoulders.
“The larger picture, and the larger problem too, is that this isn’t some random viciousness on the part of a barbarian. The sword was an imperial blade and the poison is far too expensive and exotic to have fallen into the lap of a random tribesman. This was done by one of our own; a soldier. And that means I can’t trust anyone. Well, hardly anyone.”
He narrowed his eyes and focused on his young companion.
“But you’re new, you see. I can think of no reason why you can’t be trusted. In fact, it may be that your Stag God sent you to me as the only soldier I can trust. Apart from Corda, of course.”
Salonius frowned.
“What do you intend to do, sir?”
“What do you think?” the captain smiled coldly. “I’m going to track down the bastard responsible, and I’m going to make him pay. Very painfully. And very slowly.”
“Good, sir. And Corda has assigned me to you personally so I’m here to help in any way I can,” Salonius nodded in fierce agreement.
‘And now something the stag lord showed me falls into place’ he thought as he clenched his fists.
Varro nodded gratefully.
“Ok then, while we wait for the serg… the captain, I mean… tell me more about Cernus.”
The door opened to Corda’s knock and he was surprised to find Salonius admitting him rather than Martis. Of greater surprise was the faint smell of wine on the young soldier’s breath. He furrowed his brow in disapproval but issued no comment as he strode past and into the room. Catching sight of Varro on the couch, he saluted and then stood at ease.
“Alright. I’ve briefed the cohort on the temporary command change. Can’t say anyone likes it much though, including me.”
The door shut with a click and Salonius returned to the room, stopping momentarily to salute the sergeant before walking over to stand by the window, also at ease.
Varro grunted.
“Can’t say I’m too thrilled about it myself, but if these last few hours have taught me anything, it’s that time is too precious to spend it messing around feeling sorry for myself. Thank you for assigning Salonius. He’ll be of great use.”
Corda nodded.
“Until we have a little more information on how this all occurred, we have to be very careful in whom we place our trust. In fact, captain, I would not take it personally were you to dismiss me for now.”
Varro laughed.
“Corda, we’ve been friends for longer than some of our men have been alive. I know I can trust you. Unfortunately, with you taking on command of the cohort, you’ll be tied to that job, so I doubt we’ll be seeing a lot of you. And really I can’t think of anyone else I’d be willing to trust in the cohort at the moment.” He sighed and sat back. “Or out of the cohort either, for that matter.”
The sergeant took a seat and leaned on his knees.
“So there’s just the three of us. And with me busy and you incapacitated it’s going to be difficult following anything up.”
Varro shook his head.
“Whatever Scortius cooked up for me this time seems to be doing the trick. I’m thinking clearly and I seem to be functioning almost normally. Alright I’m achy and it hurts a bit from time to time, but not enough to stop me. Salonius and I can deal with all this.”
Corda nodded.
“Alright Varro. I went through the quartermaster’s list of all loot accounted for from the battlefield and there’s no sign of a sword anything like your description. Plenty of weapons, but nothing like that.” His eyes slipped sideways to Salonius. “Have you briefed this young man yet?”
Varro nodded.
“Well then” the sergeant continued, “I’ll have the list delivered to him to go through with you. I’m sure I’ve been thorough, but it never hurts to have a second set of eyes go over things. So what’s the next step?”
Varro shifted in his seat.
“That sword’s the key. It’s the only link I’ve got to whoever did this. And it’s a good sword. I only saw it briefly, but I’d bet it’d be worth a year’s pay for your average soldier. And nobody’s going to leave that lying in the mud. Someone brought it back, and that means someone in this fort has that sword.”
Salonius cleared his throat. “We could approach the fortress command captain. He could organise a complete search of the place with his provosts and be through the whole place in a matter of hours.” He frowned. “But that’s if you can trust them, sir?”
Varro shook his head.
“No, but I think there’s another way around this. We’re going to have to inform the prefect and the marshal about the change of command and my removal from duty and, while I don’t know about the prefect, Sabian’s more trustworthy than any other senior officer I’ve ever met. He’s the most senior officer in the Province, he’s trustworthy, and he’s here. If I speak to him, he can authorise the search without going through normal fort channels. And he can do it with his own guard, so no one needs to know what they’re searching for. It’s the only way we’re going to get the jump on whoever’s responsible.”
Corda nodded thoughtfully, stroking his beard.
“Very well. I’ll have to get back to the cohort. I don’t know how you found time to perform actual command tasks with all the other random shit bureaucracy involved. I’ve not informed the men of the exact circumstances yet; just that you’re under medical care and unable temporarily to carry out your duty. I think it would be better, given the nature of the situation, to keep as many people out of this as possible, particularly the members of your own cohort.”
“Agreed.” Varro sighed. “Alright, I’m going to have a bite to eat and then Salonius and I will go to headquarters and get things underway.”
Corda nodded and, saluting hesitantly, turned on his heel and left the building, the door swinging quietly closed behind him.
Salonius straightened.
“Martis is out getting wine sir. Shall I see if I can get you something to eat?”
Varro smiled.
“Don’t worry about it lad. He’s already left cold meats, bread and cheese out in the other room. If you could just dash through and get it, there’s plenty for both of us.”
The two men were seated quietly around the small table munching on hard northern cheeses, lean cuts of pork and bread still warm and freshly baked when the door swung open with a crash.
Startled, Varro dropped a slice of cheese and Salonius leapt to his feet, his hand going immediately for the hilt of the sword at his side before he realise
d who the lone figure in the doorway was.
Catilina stormed into the room, the door swinging closed behind her. She had an air of haughty anger, somehow heightened by the aroma of eastern oils that followed her, adding to the heady scent already pervading the room. Varro stood, wiping his hands to remove the crumbs.
The marshal’s daughter, pale and elegant with fire in her eyes pointed an accusing finger at the captain.
“You!”
“What?” Varro spread his hands out in a supplicant gesture.
“How could you not tell me?” she shrieked at him.
“Catilina, calm down for Gods’ sake. You’ll burst a blood vessel.”
The lady’s arm fell back down beside her and she placed her hands on her hips, taking up a defiant stance.
“You get a life-threatening injury and I have to hear it through the bureaucracy?” her voice notched up another octave and her eyes smouldered as she glared at the captain.
“You’ve heard?” Varro frowned.
“Your doctor gave the prefect the post-battle casualty reports. My father and I were there at the time. What does he mean ‘fatality’? You’d better explain this, Varro!”
The captain sighed deeply and gestured to the empty seat to one side.
“I will Catilina, but sit down and calm down.”
He turned to Salonius. “I hadn’t thought about the casualty reports. Obviously he hasn’t released full details then.”
“No sir,” the young soldier agreed, “but surely he’s not reported you as a fatality.”
Varro grumbled.
“It’ll be ‘expected fatality’. Those of us who were wounded and aren’t expected to pull through.”
Catilina, still standing with her hands on her hips, growled at him.
“He’s not reckoned with your tenacity, Varro. You’re always getting wounded, but it doesn’t take you long to heal” she grumbled at him and then stopped and frowned.
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